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“Alright, here you are!” Sorey says as he enters the bedroom, carrying a tray with soup and tea, both still steaming.
He sets them onto the bedside table while Mikleo sits up, moving the blankets off of himself. He sniffles, grabbing a tissue from the box so he can blow his nose. Even with that, his voice sounds nasally and quiet.
“I’m fine.”
And utterly unconvincing.
“Uh-uh,” Sorey nods, raising an eyebrow mockingly. “When are you going to stop fighting me on this?”
“I told you I’m—” Mikleo devolves into a coughing fit, holding onto the front of his shirt.
“Yeah, yeah, you’re fine,” Sorey finishes for him, rolling his eyes. He hands over the mug of tea when Mikleo gets his breathing back under control.
The smaller boy takes it with no more than a small glare, which Sorey chalks up to a win. It’s more than he usually gets the overworking man to do.
“I’d kiss you for finally not being stubborn,” Sorey says, looking down at the sick boy. Even with a red face, bags under his eyes and a snotty face, he still manages to look good, somehow.
“And I’d punch you if you tried.” Mikleo’s attempt at threat loses its edge since he blows into the tissues again right after.
“You’ve never punched me before,” Sorey points out, “Anyway, I’ll go get you some cough syrup. If this gets any worse, you’re going to the doc, though.”
His tone doesn't leave room for argument, but Mikleo still groans. “It’s just a small cold.”
“Which has been going on for three weeks already.”
Mikleo sips the tea — Sorey made sure to put in extra honey — and Sorey leaves him to rest, grabbing his sweater on the way. Leaving the other alone, even if the pharmacy is only a few minutes away, doesn’t sit well with him.
It really is just a few minutes. And he’ll get some headache meds while he’s there.
The autumn air is chilly, instantly making him glad to have grabbed the sweater. He locks the door, just in case, and hurries down the road.
He knows he shouldn’t be worried, but a weight still falls off his chest when he comes back home and Mikleo scoffs at him when he unpacks the medicine onto the bedside table.
“I told you, I’m fine,” Mikleo repeats with a raspy growl when Sorey hands him a pill and a new mug of tea.
“I’ll believe you when you stop sounding like the yeti,” the brunet replies, too readily. He takes the empty mug and bowl, and carries them over to the kitchen sink to wash later. He doesn’t expect Mikleo to bother with his remark, or even bring it up when he comes back, but it seems the white haired boy always manages to surprise him when he’s sick.
“How do you know what a yeti sounds like?”
“I’m dating him.”
Mikleo has the mind to look visibly offended, or as much as he can while he sniffles on snot. Sorey opens the cough syrup and pours it into the cap, waiting until the other finishes blowing his nose.
“I can do it myself,” Mikleo protests, though he doesn’t actually fight when Sorey brings the full cap up to his mouth. He swallows the over sweetened, kid-brand syrup with only a minimal grimace.
Sorey recaps the bottle, reading the label before proclaiming, “You gotta take it again in eight hours.”
Mikleo blinks at him; even when he’s sick and pas permanently teary eyes, he can still read the clock on the wall easily. “Sorey, that’d be at midnight.”
“Well, I guess you can skip that one,” Sorey grins sheepishly, putting the bottle away into the quickly amassing pile of medical supplies on the nightstand.
“Sorey,” Mikleo pipes up quietly, “Thanks.”
Sorey pauses; he knows Mikleo will fight with him again when he’ll take his temperature, insisting he’s fine even when he looks like death itself. But that won’t stop Sorey, and it definitely won’t stop him from feeling happiness flooding his chest right now.
“It’s fine, Mikleo, really. You should try and get some rest.”
For once, Mikleo nods, pulling the covers up around himself. Sorey leaves him, a smile on his face.